Work had just started for the day when Clarkson gave his little reminder. Gray & Milton were giving a few teams a week off — a "reward for consistent performance and project excellence." His words, not mine. He’d already announced it last week, but I guess he wanted to make sure we all rembered who to thank for it.
He’d even thrown in sothing like, "Think of it as motivation — you’ve earned this, now go rest and co back sharper."
Classic Clarkson. Always finding a way to make even rest sound like a job.
Only a few teams got it, though, the top performing ones. Lucky for , Tasha’s team was one of them. Which ant I was part of that list too.
The week off started today, the 16th, and would run till the 25th. Then we’d resu on the 26th, only to go off again on the 31st and 1st.
Crazy, right? A whole holiday break that sohow still manages to feel like an internship schedule.
Anyway, that was the good news, or so I thought. Turns out, the day had a different kind of surprise waiting for .
It was lunch break, everyone was already spilling out of the office — laughter, chatter, soone ntioning a new restaurant that opened downtown. I was halfway through deciding if I wanted noodles or just a sandwich when Clarkson’s voice echoed across the floor.
"Kai. Tasha. My office."
I turned. He was standing by the door, coffee mug in hand, looking like soone who hadn’t slept in three days.
Tasha caught my eyes briefly before following behind him. I grabbed my notepad out of habit and walked in.
He motioned for us to sit, the serious tone already setting the atmosphere. Then he leaned back in his chair, eyes on both of us.
"Bilmirage Enterprises is opening a new account."
That got my attention. Bilmirage — the sa Bilmirage that had been one of our biggest clients for months. The one we’d spent nights refining proposals for, barely breathing between deadlines.
Clarkson continued, "They’ve requested that both of you, specifically you two, handle the project."
My brows lifted slightly. Tasha blinked too.
Requested? Personally?
"They said they were impressed by your last presentation," he went on, glancing at his tablet. "Especially the way you both handled the adjustnts during their final audit. It seems your teamwork left an impression."
I nodded slowly. That was the audit where everything nearly crashed because their data sheets got corrupted mid-review. Tasha and I spent almost two weeks fixing what should’ve taken two days. Long hours, endless back-and-forths, but we got it done.
Clarkson’s expression softened a little. "You’ve both earned this. But this new account... it’s big. Bigger than the last one. I’ll be overseeing it myself, but I’ll need you two to up your ga even further. If we pull this off, it won’t just be a good look for the firm. There might be... additional benefits."
His tone dropped slightly on that last part, the kind of drop that always hinted at one thing: promotion.
I didn’t say anything, but I felt the weight of it settle sowhere between excitent and exhaustion.
Tasha, though, smiled faintly. "We won’t disappoint you, sir."
Clarkson nodded, took a sip of coffee, and dismissed us with a wave.
"Keep up the good work and enjoy your week off. You’ve earned it."
We both muttered polite thank-yous before stepping out.
By the ti we returned to the floor, the place was empty. Everyone had probably already descended on the cafeteria or gone out for lunch.
I turned to head toward my desk, but her voice stopped .
"Kai."
I turned. Tasha was standing a few feet away, holding her folder close to her chest.
"Congratulations," she said softly. "On being... recognized."
It ca out like a complint she didn’t quite know how to give.
I blinked, eyebrows drawing together. "Thank... you?"
She smiled, small and awkward, then glanced at the floor. "I just ant... you worked hard for it. You deserve it."
There was sothing in her tone I couldn’t quite read. Guilt, maybe. Or sothing trying too hard not to sound like regret.
I gave a short nod. "Thanks. You too."
She looked like she wanted to say sothing else but decided against it. Instead, she drew a quiet breath and said, "Enjoy your lunch."
"You too."
And that was it.
She walked off toward the elevator. I stood there for a mont, watching the tallic doors close, before heading back to my desk.
A part of — a very small one — still felt a little bad for her. But that’s all it was. Just pity.
Because no matter how many "congratulations" she gave or smiles she practiced, I’d already made my choice.
And nothing, not even a promotion, was coming between Val and .
---
The rest of the day blurred into a slow hum of reports, emails, and the sound of keyboards. I was counting down the minutes to clock-out when Derrick rolled his chair over, grinning like he just won the lottery.
"Karaoke tonight, bro. Don’t even try to bail." He said with a smirk.
I groaned. "I didn’t even say anything yet."
"I’m preempting it," he said, smirking. "You promised last week, rember? Team celebration. Week off. No excuses."
By the ti work officially ended, I was sitting in a neon-lit booth at a karaoke bar, holding a half-empty glass and wondering how the hell I got there so fast.
Everyone else was already halfway through their drinks, belting out old pop songs and laughing too loud. It was... fun, I guess.
But as I looked around, I noticed sothing.
Everyone had soone.
Derrick had his girlfriend on his lap, two other colleagues were sharing a plate of wings, even Jared was FaceTiming his fiancée between songs.
And ? I was sitting there, nodding to a song I didn’t know, pretending I didn’t feel slightly out of place.
Tasha hadn’t co. She’d said she was "too tired." But the way she said it — eyes down, voice low — didn’t sound like tiredness. It sounded like soone who’d run out of reasons to keep trying.
I didn’t bla her. But I wasn’t about to change anything either.
After an hour or two, I quietly slipped out.
Derrick yelled sothing about being a buzzkill, but I waved him off.
The night air was cold, the streets half-lit by Christmas decorations that hung over the main road. I drove ho, windows slightly open, trying to shake off the faint headache from the bar lights.
When I turned into my street, I noticed a figure sitting by my doorstep.
At first, I thought maybe it was a neighbor. Then, as the headlights hit her face, my stomach dropped.
Avery.
She was sitting cross-legged, her hair slightly ssy, staring at the ground.
I parked and stepped out, heart already trying to figure out what kind of scene this was supposed to be.
"Avery?"
She looked up slowly. Her eyes were glazed, her expression loose.
"Kai..." she mumbled, voice sluggish and uneven.
That’s when it hit — she was drunk.
Completely, absolutely drunk.
I stood there for a second, trying to decide if this was real or if I was just too tired to process it.
Because of all the things I expected to find waiting for tonight... a drunk Avery sitting on my doorstep wasn’t one of them.
---
To be continued...
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